


Hollywood Babylon Coda

by leonidaslion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam ruminates on Dean's experiences in Hollywood and the Winchester Brothers ::gasp:: discuss their <i>feelings</i> ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollywood Babylon Coda

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mtee](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mtee).



Sam had seen a lot of horror movies in his day, but “Boogyman” had to be one of the worst. He tried keeping up with the plot for the first half hour and then gave it up as a lost cause. And, though he hadn’t thought it possible, Tara was actually worse in this than she was in the piece of crap he and Dean had the dubious honor of saving.

Dean had brought the movie back to the motel room with him and even managed to borrow a DVD player from the manager so that they could watch it. He’d also grabbed a bag of popcorn, a six-pack of Coke, and a box of Snowcaps that he tossed at Sam as soon as he came in the door. Sam recognized that they were some kind of peace offering because Dean hated Snowcaps with a fiery passion—used to steal Sam’s box just so he could throw it in the trash when they were younger—but he wasn’t sure what Dean was trying to atone for.

Maybe forcing Sam to sit and watch this god-awful film.

Sam looked at his watch in what he hoped was a surreptitious manner, and was more than a little dismayed to see that they were barely an hour into the movie. He was tempted to grab the box and check how much longer Dean planned on torturing him, but settled for tossing a few more Snowcaps down.

On the screen, Tara’s character—Sam still had no idea what her name was supposed to be—was getting ready to take a shower. Sam chanced a glance over at his brother and Dean was … gross. Dean was _leering_ at the screen, and Sam was a hundred percent sure that Dean had his own private movie running in his head right now.

Leave it to Dean to bang the movie star in her trailer between takes.

But Sam didn’t say anything, and he didn’t get up and look for something else to do, either. He waited until the shower scene was over and then looked back at Dean. Dean was grinning around a mouthful of popcorn, eyes eager and intent. He was somehow managing to enjoy himself, and he looked so … Sam floundered for an adjective, and it took him a while to come up with the right one because he wasn’t used to seeing that expression on his brother. When the word came, it hurt.

Dean looked happy. Looked relaxed and open without any of those damned barriers he habitually had up.

Then Dean was throwing a handful of popcorn at him, and it was a direct hit without Dean even bothering to aim.

Sam rolled his eyes and started picking popcorn out of his lap. “What are you, five?”

Dean’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. He didn’t take his eyes off the screen.

Sam piled the popcorn on the nightstand, realized that there was a piece stuck in his hair—ew—fished that out too, and then leaned back. He was almost tempted to throw a few Snowcaps in retaliation, but the more he thought about it, the more he was bothered by his recent realization. He wanted to figure out why, not start a food fight with his brother.

It took him a few minutes, but Sam finally realized that it hadn’t really been all that long since he saw Dean wearing that open, contented expression. Dean had been beaming like a little kid the whole time they were on that movie set: Sam had just been too wrapped up in the job—too wrapped up in not thinking about Madison—to notice. He thought back over the past few days, and it was like a punch to the stomach.

Dean hadn’t just been happy working as a PA, he’d been good at it. It made sense when Sam considered it: the collaboration needed on set fell nicely in line with the idea of ‘teamwork-as-God’ that their father had preached. And Dean … Dean had always been a people person. He’d always been good at talking to people: connecting with them on a superficial, easy-going level. It was the serious stuff—what Dean called 'emo crap'—where he always ran into difficulties.

Dean had had normal jobs over the years—usually low-wage ones that required a lot of brute force and not much brainpower—but Sam had never seen his brother do anything other than hunt. Had never been able to imagine Dean as anything other than a hunter, no matter how much he’d pushed Dean to give it up over the years. And now, because of that stupid movie gig, he suddenly could.

It bothered Sam for the same reason that meeting Cassie had bothered him. Because that was the stuff Dean was supposed to have: a steady girlfriend, and a normal job—okay, working in Hollywood wasn’t exactly normal, but it was a damn sight closer than hunting—and eventually a house, 2.5 kids, and a dog.

But instead Dean had … what? This motel room and the Impala and a job that almost got him killed or thrown in jail on a regular basis.

Dean let out a heavy sigh suddenly and paused the movie. He shifted on the bed, glancing over at Sam. “Okay, let’s have it.”

Sam was tempted to say, ‘Have what?’ and play stupid in hopes that Dean would get bored and go back to the movie, but instead he found himself asking, “Do you want more?”

“Naw, I’m good.” Dean tipped the bag of popcorn up and poured a few kernels into his mouth.

“No, I mean, do you ever want more than this?” Sam waved his hand at the motel room.

One of Dean’s eyebrows quirked up. “Well,” he drawled. “Five star resorts are usually kinda discriminating when it comes to credit checks.”

Fine. If Dean was going to be deliberately obtuse—and after he’d started this conversation in the first place—then Sam was through talking. He clenched his jaw and stared at the frozen picture on the TV screen, waiting for Dean to get the picture and start the movie again.

Instead, he heard Dean swear softly under his breath and then the TV turned off. “What exactly are we talking about here?” he asked reluctantly.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Sam muttered, and saw Dean roll his shoulders uncomfortably from out of the corner of his eye.

“Fine.” And now Dean’s voice was more than reluctant: it was a little resentful. And that made absolutely zero sense to Sam because Dean was the one pressing the issue here. Which was strange, right? Sam was used to having to pry conversations like this out of his brother with a crowbar, not have them forced on him in the middle of a rare night in.

“No, I don’t want more,” Dean said, the words clipped and short.

Sam studied his brother; trying to see past the poker face Dean was wearing. “You never wanted to settle down somewhere?” he prodded. "Get a job?"

“Christ, how many times are we gonna have to go over this?” Dean groaned. “I hunt. That’s what I do.”

“You just seemed, I dunno, happy.”

Dean snorted. “Oh, I’m a ray of sunshine.”

“On the movie set. You were … you were good at it.”

Dean blinked at him, mask sliding a bit in his surprise. Then he steadied himself and said, “I’m good at everything.”

Sam ignored Dean’s attempt at deflection and pressed, “I mean it, Dean. It was like you belonged there.”

“That’s our job, Sam: to fit in. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Sam wanted to shake his brother: to tell him that it did mean something. It meant that Dean was more than capable of holding a normal job, which Sam had never considered before, and it was completely screwing up his mental image of his brother, and why the hell was Dean so determined to stick to this life, anyway? Sam was the one with the psychic mojo—he was the one with a demon on his ass. He was the one who didn’t have a choice here.

A strange emotion ghosted over Dean’s face, too quickly for Sam to recognize. “Hey, if you—if you want to take a break, maybe stop for a while, we could.”

He sounded almost hopeful and it made Sam remember Dean’s repeated suggestions that they hole up somewhere. Dean’s attempts to hide Sam somewhere the demon couldn’t find him: somewhere his destiny couldn’t reach him. As though anywhere was far away enough—was safe enough—for that.

“No.” Sam shook his head. “This isn’t about me, Dean. It’s … seeing you, with the crew, and with—with Tara, I guess I just—”

Dean shifted and this time Sam caught the expression in his brother’s eyes. Guilt. He frowned a little.

“You think I’m jealous?” he demanded. “About Tara?”

“Well, she _is_ smoking,” Dean answered smoothly, but Sam had noticed the twitch of relief across his brother’s face, which meant that he had missed the mark after all. But he was sure it had something to do with Tara. Something to do with Dean sleeping with Tara. And then it hit him and he was an idiot for not figuring it out sooner.

Dean was worried that his extracurricular activities had brought up painful memories. Was worried Sam had seen Tara’s dark, tousled hair and thought of another girl.

“This is about Madison, isn’t it?” he asked softly.

Dean flinched. “What? No.”

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Dean, stop it.”

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who—”

“Stop worrying about me. I’m fine.”

Dean clenched his jaw, and his face furrowed as he dropped the pretense. “No, you’re not. You won’t talk about it, and that’s a big fucking neon sign that you’re not ‘fine’. And I saw your face when I—back at the lot after—”

“That wasn’t about Madison,” Sam insisted, and then, when Dean gave him an incredulous look, he said, “Well, not completely about Madison.” Because he wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to think about sex without thinking about Madison. Or Jessica. And weren’t _those_ thoughts designed to get his motor revving?

“See?” Dean said, nodding. “I knew it. I knew—”

“ _Dean_. Just try and be a normal human being for one minute, okay? How would you feel if you walked in on me right after I’d, uh, been with someone?”

Dean tilted his eyebrows in a confused expression. Okay: bad example. Sam remembered Dean actually doing that once, before he left for Stanford. And his big brother’s response had been to give him a grin and a thumbs up and then to flop down onto his own bed and start flipping through the TV channels.

“What if you walked in on Dad right after he—”

Dean’s face went from confused to disgusted in about point two seconds. “Dude!” he complained. “Not cool.”

 _Oh thank God._ “That right there,” Sam said. “That’s exactly why I was, um, uncomfortable when I ran into you after you’d … um …”

“Oh,” Dean said. He looked like he still didn’t really understand, but he was willing to accept that Sam was weird and just leave it at that. Then he dropped his eyes to his hands and, his posture stilted, offered, “About Madison. If you want to, you know, talk or something …” His face was contorted as though each word was ripping his skin off of his body, and Sam was almost positive that sweat was beading on his brother's face.

“Dean, I’m dealing with it.”

“Sure you are.” Dean’s hands twitched around the bag of popcorn. “So, ah, are we done here?” Voice hopeful: shoulders tense enough that Sam could practically _see_ the knots forming.

Sam hesitated for a few seconds, not sure whether to push it or not, and then sighed. Dean wasn’t going to listen: wasn’t ready to listen. He nodded. “Sure.”

But as Dean started the movie again, Sam continued to watch his brother out of the corner of his eyes. Watching as Dean relaxed by small increments, until there was a faint smile ghosting across his lips.

Maybe Sam couldn’t make Dean stop worrying about Madison. Maybe he couldn’t force his brother to admit that there were other alternatives out there for him than hunting. But he could give his brother this. Could maybe use some of the cash he was saving up to get them a DVD player of their own: maybe buy a few of Dean’s favorite movies and keep them under the back seat.

Dean finished his popcorn and, crumpling up the bag, threw it at Sam’s face. “Watch the movie, dude,” he ordered, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.

Sam obediently shifted his gaze to the TV and grimaced as Tara let out another horribly fake scream. Okay, maybe not Dean’s _favorite_ movies …


End file.
